


the games we play

by etoilette



Series: Kinktober 2020 [25]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilette/pseuds/etoilette
Summary: Day #25 of Kinktober: GunplayAkira doesn't answer. Akechi didn't really expect him to, but it's still disheartening. He's not quite sure why, but he would have thought that their time together was deserving of at least a yes or a no."Suck," he commands again. "If you make me cum, I just might not kill you."
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Kinktober 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949695
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	the games we play

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Notes: References to Akira/Others (implied noncon)

The first thing that Akechi noticed about Akira after the body of the guard hit the ground is that no one thought to cuff him. He used to be, if the bright bruises around his wrists are any indication, but they released him for some reason. He's not sure why, considering he made sure to hammer home how dangerous and resourceful Akira can be, but the PSB must have been confident that whatever drug and beatdown they gave him was enough to subdue the leader of the Phantom Thieves for good.

They were wrong, of course. The shock in Akira's eyes from witnessing such a sudden murder is wiped away by feral anger when Akechi turns to look at him. He makes no move to stand up or attack Akechi, but it feels like being stared down by a wild animal.

It's simply another reminder of how useless all of the adults around him are. Nothing will ever get done right unless Akechi himself goes in and gets a handle on things.

"Have you finally pieced everything together?" Akechi asks. He walks close to Akira and points the gun right at his forehead. Hearing the metallic clack seems to finally hammer home the reality of the situation to him. The ferocity melts away into fear, and Akechi can't help the smirk that pulls at his lip.

It would be so easy to kill him now. In fact, in all of the simulations that Akechi ran in the Metaverse prior to this fateful night, he hadn't even given himself time to talk. He's watched enough _Featherman_ at this point to know that villains who monologue are doomed to failure, and this is the one thing he absolutely cannot afford to mess up.

But looking at Akira now, remembering all the time they spent together — almost all of Akechi's fondest memories were made with Akira at his side — and the frustration he felt at Akira's latent talent overshadowing his ... It just seems like such a waste to shoot him in the head and be done with it. As if Akira was as anonymous and meaningless as the guard rotting on the ground behind him.

Akira doesn't deserve that kind of death.

Akechi lowers the gun until the muzzle plays with Akira's lips. "Open your mouth," he commands.

He's not surprised when Akira does not, choosing instead to glare at him wordlessly. He's always been cheeky. Always clamoured to get in the last word. It's odd that he's so silent now. Though, ha, maybe it's not so odd. Akechi doesn't think he'd be too wordy either if someone he thought was his friend was pointing a real gun at his forehead.

He doesn't have time for Akira's stubbornness. It takes nothing for Akechi to force the silencer of the gun into Akira's mouth. He doesn't care about the bruises he leaves, at the blood from Akira's split lip. It's not as if they will matter later anyway.

"Suck," Akechi commands. "Make a show of it and I might not blow your brains out."

It's a lie. Akira probably knows it's a lie too. But he moans, loud and wanton, bobbing his head on the metal and plastic. His cheeks hollow as he sucks on the slender shape of the silencer, and once or twice he pulls off of it just enough that Akechi can see his pink tongue wrap skillfully around the length. It certainly doesn't look like his first time sucking something, and Akechi can't imagine who Akira would have been performing fellatio on if it isn't him.

He glares at Akira, and Akira glares right back.

"You're not taking the whole thing," Akechi growls. "You can do better than this, surely."

Without warning, he shoves the gun deeper into Akira's throat. A dark stab of pleasure runs through his body when he hears Akira cough and splutter at the sudden intrusion. He doesn't stop even when the muzzle moves past his lips. He only stops when he can push the gun in no further, when he can hear and feel Akira start to retch when the silencer hits the back of his throat.

Akira's starting to turn a worrying shade of green so Akechi tugs the gun out, watching as Akira coughs wetly. Nothing comes up though, thankfully, and Akechi wipes the excess liquid off on Akira's clothes while Akira is hunched over.

"Pathetic," Akechi sneers. His reaction would probably be the same if their roles were reversed, to be honest, but it's not as if he would ever be in a situation like this — facing a gun while sitting helplessly at his enemy's mercy. "And you call yourself the leader of the Phantom Thieves?"

Akira takes a deep fortifying breath and sits up straight again. He _still_ doesn't say anything. He simply glares up at Akechi, as if Akechi isn't even worth wasting his breath. It's infuriating. Infuriating! Did all their time together mean nothing to him? Does Akira really not care that he's about to be killed by someone he thought was his friend? Or maybe Akira still thinks that this is all a ruse. Simply a trick that Akechi is pulling on Japan's law enforcement. As if Akechi wouldn't really pull the trigger.

It's hard to unbuckle himself and pull his pants down while his other hand keeps the gun steady, but he manages. He probably looked ridiculous, but considering Akira's chin is covered in saliva and snot, he doesn't think Akira has any right to laugh at him.

Akechi's dick is still soft but if Akira's performance earlier is any indication, he won't be for long.

He carefully avoids the puddle of _something_ that Akira left on the ground and doesn't stop until Akira's mouth is pressed up right against his flaccid cock. The gun moves from his forehead to his temple, and from this angle, he can see the fearful shock back on Akira's face.

"Are you really that surprised?" Akechi can't help but ask. "Did you really not expect something like this would happen? Did something like this not happen to you earlier, when you were alone in here with those guards?"

Akira doesn't answer. Akechi didn't really expect him to, but it's still disheartening. He's not quite sure why, but he would have thought that their time together was deserving of at least a yes or a no.

"Suck," he commands again. "If you make me cum, I _just_ might not kill you."

There's no hesitation before Akira opens his mouth and welcomes Akechi in, the maddening heat making Akechi hiss. He doesn't know what he expected, really, considering his ultimatum. But he can't help but feel a little stab of disappointment. It's not as if he expected Akira to spit in his face or anything. However, he had never thought that Akira was so desperate to cling to life that he would just roll over and go along with anything Akechi asked of him.

In anger, Akechi shoves himself deeper into Akira's mouth, until he can feel the tip of Akira's nose hit his pubic bone and the head of his dick graze against the back of Akira's throat. It's too much too fast, obviously, and he doubts that the PBS were giving Akira any water during his stay in there, but he doesn't care. Akira won't have any time later to worry about his mouth anyway, and the very thought of that makes Akechi's dick twitch, growing even harder.

"You're so good at this," Akechi taunts, moving slowly, in and out. His left hand doesn't budge, keeping the muzzle of the silenced gun affixed against Akira's temple. He won't let his guard down, even though the pleasure lances from the core of his body and into the tips of his fingers.

He doesn't actually know if Akira's experienced in this or not. If it feels so good simply because of the heat tightening around his cock, like he's fucking a fleshlight or something. Akira's tongue works against his dick, trying to push it out, but the unexpected lashes of warmth against his sensitive glans and shaft makes him groan low in his throat.

"You better work for it, Akira," Akechi hisses. With an effort, he stops moving his hips. "I can't do all the work for you. You won't deserve to live if I'm the one who has to carry you through."

Again, there's no hesitation. No brief moment where Akira's deciding whether he should pull away or bite. He starts to bob his head. The only sign of Joker's aggression is in the untampered fury in his glare when he looks up at Akechi from behind his messy bangs and thick lashes.

Here it is. Here is what Akechi wanted from him. It's only when he feels the strain in his cheeks that he realizes that he's grinning, probably looking maniacal and deranged. But it's so hard to care. It's so hard to worry about that, when he's finally seeing the truth of Akira out in the real world, and he's finally allowing Akira to see the real him.

Akira hollows his cheeks, really putting on a show. His lips are reddened from the strain, from bumping into Akechi for so long and so hard. When Akira reaches up with a bruised hand and strokes Akechi's shaft, he jerks back like the touch is fire.

Akira's hand is gentle, like he's caressing something precious rather than the most sensitive part of his worst enemy. The weakest point of someone who is prepared to shoot him in the head.

With a snarl, he starts to thrust, snapping his hips in a frantic pace. Akira chokes and the hand migrates from Akechi's dick to his thigh, but he doesn't dig his nails in. Doesn't try to push Akechi away.

"What are you doing?" Akechi growls.

Akira can't answer, with his cheeks bulging obscenely every time that Akechi forces himself deeper into his mouth. But he doesn't do anything to change up the rhythm or make a move to back off.

"Do you like this or something?" Akechi continues to taunt. "What, were you interested in me the entire time? Fantasized about sucking my dick? Wanted my cock in your ass? Why wouldn't you try to push yourself away?"

Akira simply moans, tilting his head back and welcoming Akechi's dick deeper down his throat. The vibration sends a shiver up Akechi's spine and he grits his teeth, steadying himself with one hand against Akira's head. His finger twitches on the trigger, but he doesn't shoot. Not yet.

Akira lavishes the entirety of the cock like he's savouring the flavour and heaviness on his tongue. If the very real weight of the gun wasn't against his head, one could be tricked into thinking that this was completely consensual.

Akechi's close. His breath comes fast and shallow, and his hands shake from the desperation. He grips Akira's hair tighter with his right hand, using his mouth roughly. He scrapes his cock against the top of Akira's mouth, rubbing the head against the hard palate. Akira's brows furrow from the asphyxiation, spluttering around Akechi's dick every time he hits the back of his throat.

When Akechi cums, he slams his dick in deep and hard once before pulling out, allowing himself to spray all over Akira's face. Before Akira could react to the sudden facial, he pulls the trigger.

Red and white fly in the air, splattering onto the table and onto Akechi's clothes. The stench is immediate and disgusting, and Akechi scrunches up his nose. Bits of grey matter and bones clatter onto the metal floor, and Akira slams down face-first. In his final second, the sudden spurt of cum down his throat must have been a surprise. There's no anger or hatred in those wide grey eyes. There is simply shock, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

Ah, but Akechi can understand, considering the condition had been that he wouldn't shoot if Akira could make him cum.

"My finger slipped," Akechi says. It's a bit of an effort to stifle his giggle, as the only person who's been let in on the joke. "I'm sorry I broke my promise."

The only sound echoing in the room is the soft pitter-patter of Akira's blood dripping off the table and onto the ground. Akira doesn't say anything or laugh.

Would he have laughed, though? Akechi isn't sure. Akira was never one for gallows humour. He might have, in the beginning of their friendship, just so that Akechi didn't feel bad about his whiffed joke. Or maybe he would have looked at him with that infuriatingly blank expression, to really hammer home how tasteless Akechi is. There's no way of knowing for sure now, of course.

There's a foreign emptiness in Akechi's chest. Maybe not so foreign, actually. The last time he felt it, his mother had just —

He forces a smile on his face and unscrews the silencer, placing the gun into Akira's hand. He doesn't let himself linger. When he leaves the room, he doesn't let himself look back. He walks and walks until the sounds of his footsteps drown out the phantom gunshot ringing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> "Why didn't Akira talk? Was it because that was the cognitive version? Or was it the real one?"  
> "Why did Akechi cum on Akira's face? Wouldn't that leave DNA evidence?"  
> Yes :)


End file.
